Romeo
by Angel's Anthem
Summary: I was abducted from my home and held for ransom so they could train me to fight for their entertainment. Objective: survive the games. If left standing, you were deemed worthy to join a clan and choose or be chosen as a mate. Losing was no longer an option for me. For I, the student, had fallen for the master...
1. When All You See Is Red

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything pertaining to the Alien/Predator world of magic, just any OC's you may come across.**  
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**Chapter I**

_One Mississippi..._

_Two Mississippi..._

_'Just try it,'_ my fiancé had said,_ 'It used to help me when I was a kid so, naturally, I've got reason to believe it might help you. Maybe not now but one day at least.'_ The inflamed and seizing jolt in my stomach reminded me of the uncanny truth that he had been right; begrudgingly right.

_Three Mississippi..._

I was freezing. My body racked violently with shivers. The bitter air nipped at my raw knuckles as I rubbed them profusely, panicked. Counting was the only method I had to subside the pain. And the fear. Oh, god...

The fear. It was nearly impossible to control. No light. There was absolutely no light, not one shred or glimmer of day. The muscles in my eyes ached from the overly-strenuous use to find it. The nebulous freighter in which I sat rumbled and swayed and moaned. Metallic bars surrounded me. I was... in a cage... being hauled in like an animal to the butcher; to be killed, skinned, mauled, cooked, and eaten. It was a sick, gruesome, and utterly honest gut feeling.

_Four Mississippi..._

Someone, or something, was approaching. I could hear its copious footsteps tread across a metallic deck. They began to echo, grow louder, and louder, and louder. I could hear whimpers. I could hear huffs and faint grumbles. Then silence. The footsteps, the anonymous prattles, they all just stopped.

_Five Mississippi... _

In a half-moment, a symphony of screams erupted inside the freighter bay. I jerked my head around in the darkness left and right, up and down, confused, horrified. I thought I was the only one here. But there were others! Their screaming, though terrifying, gave me hope to know that they were just as mortified as I was. But what did they see that I didn't? What made them more frightened than the impregnable dark? The endless cacophony of sobbing, coughing, sniffing, crying, screeching, and praying was as good as any admonition to remind me of the hell I was in; that we were all in. The sounds echoed. An hour passed, maybe two, and the screams had only grown louder, and the cries only grew longer. What had been a steady comfort had become boisterous noise that had the potential to drive me insane.

It rang in my ears, pounding inside my brain. Without a second thought, I clamped my hands against the side of my head, plugging up my ears to block out the harsh shrills. Despite my efforts, the screams broke through my hands like obsolete glass. My eyes began to swell, tears burning. They drenched the side of my face, stinging. As the ship rattled my cage rocked back and forth, the freighter halting to a stop. Before I knew it, one cage after another tumbling down from their respective stacks, bashing into each other in a loud heap of metal. My shriek meshed with the other diverse octaves resonating throughout the hallowed chamber.

Then, I saw it... A flicker of hope. A light emerging through the darkness.

But it was so far away...

Suddenly, another light flickered, the florescent light hissing until it was omitting a constant tinder.

Then another...

And another...

They were drawing closer. Another!

I waited for the light above my cage to flicker. It flashed a rustic orange, and I flinched. It illuminated the abyss of my prison with sage light. I rubbed my swollen eyes with the back of my hand hoping to make sense of this _game; _this mischievous ploy, diabolical prank. With hesitant but desperate glances, I peered through my parted fingers only to wish I hadn't. A devilish creature glared at me with yellow beady eyes. They screamed at me with disgust and hatred. His tusks curved inward, tucked away behind a fold of pink skin. His raven-black fringes of hair draped around his horridly spiked complexion. The beast towered above my cage as I quivered inside his shadow. My eyes bobbed from his sleek talons, to his terrifyingly large build, then to his piercing, jagged teeth.

_Six Mississippi..._

I was staring at a fiend, at a demon. And there were _hundreds _of them. Because there were _hundreds _of cages.

_Seven Mississippi..._

A deep, menacing growl jerked my attention back to the monster. His mandibles twitched, displeased. I was too frozen, too horrified to move. All I could do was tremble beneath his piercing gaze. He moved. I flinched. His talons clawed at the metal cage, ripping the door free. I screamed as he grabbed hold of my hair and yanked. Hard. My scalp burned as he dragged me along the platform. I flailed my arms at his hand and tried to stand so I could relinquish some of the pain throbbing from my head. It felt as though my scalp would tear off at any second.

Deafened by my own screams, I wasn't even able to process the other screams. They too were being dragged from their cages like a bundle of corpses to a burning pit. I searched, eyes blurred, for something familiar. _Anything_ to cling on to. Something to find comfort in. But, we weren't on Earth anymore. These other people were strangers to me, and, little by little, we were being herded out like a pack of wild animals.

One by one, we were violently tossed toward the back wall. Those ahead of me had their clothes ripped from their bodies. I watched in horror as they were shoved into a corner, naked and trembling. It was almost my turn. The beasts tossed another person into the corner. Then another. Anxiety made my skin twitch. My heart beat at a dangerous pace. My ears rang. There went another to the condemned corner.

_Eight Mississippi..._

It was my turn.

Just as I saw it play through my mind, the alien's claws dug into my skin and ripped my clothes away, cast aside, forgotten. Then I, too, was pushed into the horde. Our bodies clapped against each other in a messy heap. Personal space meant nothing to the aliens. We were seen as nothing more than vermin and treated as much. I tried to keep my breath under control. With the atmosphere so thick with heat, though, it was harder than I had imagined. Suddenly, it struck me...

There were kids among the group. Teenagers too. There were women old enough to be mothers. There were women old enough to be grandmothers. And there were women like me: young enough to know, but old enough to know better. But without the trinkets we carried with us from Earth, the status markers, the class indicators, the clothes, that's all we were... just women.

I gripped my elbows as the last woman fell into place. Literally. Our eyes were simultaneously drawn to the brutes as their yellow eyes glared at us. Our cries had faded. No more murmurs. No more shallow breaths. Nothing. Just silence. It felt like hours before the wall we stood against began to shift. Turning around in a fumbling mess, we saw the wall disappear.

_Nine Mississippi..._

With blinding white light, an arena buzzed and echoed with howling aliens. The colossal chamber shuddered with a hundred different octaves of thunderous roaring. Before we even had a moment to realize what was going on, the brutes behind us - who we had temporarily forgotten - began to shove our bodies out into the open; down a ramp honeycombed in elaborate symbols I couldn't identify. My subconscious honed me to hide myself as we filed out into the open for all to see. Shuffling to the center of a stone platform engulfed and surrounded by an endless pit of jagged quills, glowing chrome eyes bored at us; their faces cloudy with excitement. Thrill.

It reminded me of the excitement I had once felt right before Chipper Jones in the last game of the Atlanta Braves' season slid to home plate, winning the game and earning the trust and admiration of-

Suddenly, a voice began to speak.

_Ten Mississippi... _

_Eleven Mississippi..._

I could only assume it was a voice. It clicked. It growled. It howled. When it ended, as if on cue, the roaring symphony of lion-like creatures rumbled in response. The ground began to shake like an earthquake. In seconds, we were all on our backsides, gripping the dirt and sand to stifle the violent approach. Digging my toes into the tousled soil, I fell forward with another serge of enraged quakes. My mind was still flustered. I didn't understand what was going on. I didn't understand anything! Just when my confusion peaked, a patch of brittle stone emerged from the rest of the protruding platform of rock. I braced against it as the cylinder continued to grow. When it stopped, so did the tremors.

Panting, I clawed at my chest to catch my breath. Wiping away the sweat from my forehead and brushing away loose strands of hair, my gaze was directed toward a ripple of light flashing across the - what I had thought - stone surface. I swiped the back of my hand over it, sweeping away the dirt to have a clear view. In my peripheral, I could see the others slowly approaching to see what the spectacle was. I stared at the... screen... until the ripples of light morphed into symbols; the same kind that I had seen on the ramp. They panned across the mirage. I bent my knees, squinting to make sense of it all.

I could only shake my head, defeated. I didn't understand, but, obviously, we were meant to.

_Twelve Mississippi..._

The symbols began to fade. In seconds they were replaced with a _tiny _font of red lettering.

_Thirteen Mississippi..._

Feeling obligated, as women began to peer over my shoulders, I tried to make sense of the writing.

"Fight," I whispered, squinting to continue, "...to survive."

_Fourteen Mississippi... _

My heart began to race. Those words- the meaning. It all made sense now. We were prize. We were entertainment. We were the kill. As if my words held power, chaos broke free. All _hell _was set loose_**.** _Sputtering black creatures flew around us. An entire hive of foreign beasts swarmed the air, diving in with their fangs exposed to catch an unsuspecting girl. The screams had returned. Pain. Agony. It was all a blur to me. I was too shocked to move.

_Fifteen Mississippi..._

Red. All I could see was red.

_Sixteen Mississippi..._

A dozen or so of us remained. One by one. Woman by woman. They began to drop faster than I could count.

_Seventeen Mississippi..._

How was I still standing?

_Eighteen Mississippi..._

Yellow eyes glared at me. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't move. I couldn't even scream.

_Nineteen Mississippi..._

There were only a few of us left. I was cold. I was scared. I wanted to pray. But, nothing came to mind.

_Twenty Mississippi..._

That's it. Time was up. It was my turn to die...

_One Mississippi... Two Mississippi... Three Mississippi..._

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**Author's Note: **So... what did you think? Should I continue? Please review!**  
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	2. Scar-Crossed

**Author's Note: In all honesty, I hadn't expected so many people to review. So, THANK YOU! A special thanks to individual reviewers can be viewed at the end of this chapter. Please enjoy chapter two! PM me if you have any questions or if anything in this chapter is unclear. **

**+Chapter one has been revised and edited. Some content was changed, added on to, etc. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Wish I did.**

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Amidst a sea of yellow came a pair of green eyes. He couldn't have been _less than _eight feet tall. He stood, like the others, in bulk; clad in netting and armor, though his was made of bronze. His talons were clean, sharp, and ready. His ebony dreadlocks were slick and lanky. His leather-like skin was battle honed with scars, some pink- fresh, others white- relic. And, his body was riddled with deep indigo freckles. He was your ordinary soldier. All muscle. No moral.

He'd come with as much intention as any other yautja in the stadium: to watch weaker beings be killed and eaten by their own incompetence and failure. They were pathetic to him. Worth nothing. A feral hound with one testicle was of more value than these miscreants. They were for pleasure and nothing more. His chest rumbled with laughter as the last few females cowered at the edge of the pit. He sneered in disgust as one decided to jump, welcoming the fatal blows of the jagged rocks rather than standing her ground and going out with honor. Sure, take the easy way out. The warrior shook his head. _Absolutely_ unacceptable.

He gave a quick, resonating roar as the Essp'ion Flyers were called away, returning to their cages. The first round was over. Nine females were left 'standing.' He watched as the ones cowering by the edge hesitantly stood, stumbling towards the center where two lone females were already fixed. _Hmph. _At least they had the wit to act with a little dignity. As usual, they were confused, bickering in their own tongue to one another as they waited. The yautja were immediately silenced as one of their own entered, feet pounding against the artificial soil toward the females. They, as predicted, moved away from him until their backs were to the pit. Having nowhere else to go, they froze. Only echoes and murmurs filled the air of the arena now.

"Are you not entertained?!" announced the Mediator, his voice magnified and delivered through speakers. The warrior's howling bark meshed with the others in response.

"Nine are left! I don't know about you, but I was a little disappointed. Haven't seen a more deplorable batch since the first tournament when our ancestors' ancestors' _ancestors _were only pups!" The yautjan race rumbled with laughter. "How can you blame them, though? Well, this just means that bidding will have to be faster and more expensive." The green-eyed warrior snarled. No ooman was worth his time or his trophies. Why wealthy and elite predators exhausted their prized possessions for such filthy creatures was beyond his comprehension.

With a click of his mandibles, the remaining females were snatched up and taken away; their screams of protest silence as they disappeared through the exit. The warrior felt instant relief. Though entertaining, the foolish event was finally over. And he was grateful for it. With the audiences gradually increasing, it was becoming a challenging task to just _leave _the arena. Shuffling through an arching hallway behind a pair of Honored warriors, their clad of armor bright with an illuminating gold alloy, the bronze warrior spotted one of his hunt brothers a few steps ahead. To move past the Honors would be a great disrespect to their rank in society. So, he had no choice but to wait. While respecting their status, the green-eyed predator still had a fleeting thought that their pompous rumps pacing at such an incredibly slow rate was rather _disturbing_.

Growling in frustration, the warrior searched for a gap in the crowd and immediately darted between two unbloods. One quick glare was enough to silence their barks, seeing that he could easily obliterate them in a fight. Before the warrior even had a chance to signal his hunter brother, the other yautja took notice of his efforts to catch up and met him halfway.

"Despite what the Mediator says, I believe we have a great choices this cycle," clicked the hunt brother blithely. "They seem promising."

"I do not want to discuss the tournament with you, Odin," the warrior grunted.

"There was one in particular that caught my eye. What do you think? Should I place a bid this time?"

"This conversation is pointless."

"I can't even imagine how my rank would skyrocket if an ooman belonging to me won the tournament. Purchasing one of the little insects might bring my name great honor one day."

Sighing, the bronze warrior relented, "I advise against it. They are not worth your time. I can assure you."

"Can you now?" Odin raised a mandible precariously. "And how can you assure me they are not worth my time if you haven't even been within 200 mekes of the tiny bastards on a radar?"

"I do not need to be, nor will I ever," barked the annoyed warrior.

"There's a first time for everything I suppose," Odin said.

All the while, the green-eyed warrior hadn't glanced up from his walking path to notice that his hunt brother had led them directly into the bidding chamber. It was towering, massive. Impressive really. Nine behemoth tanks were pillared in the center, each protected by two Slok'ue Guards. Still, the green-eyed warrior couldn't figure why protection was needed when their worth was so little to nothing. Despite his opinion, warriors of every likeness and gender stood in the corridor, gaping over the survivors and analyzing their own definitions of worth. Bids were placed, however no one had yet issued a slug'd bid. Even that came as a bit of a shock to the green-eyed warrior's evening.

"Paya," Odin breathed, darting forward to the ninth and last behemoth. The tanks were normally ordered by rank of physique. "The Goddess of War _wants_ me to have this one. I know it." The bronze warrior searched his hunt brother for any sign of illness. Odin just... stood there, gawking up at the tube of crystalline water where a naked female drifted unconscious. It was so embarrassing...

"Odin," the warrior said, deadpan, "Odin!" he barked again, louder.

"What do you want, runt?" Odin slurred, still in a trance at the feeble ooman. The warrior crossed his arms, snarling at the insult.

Deciding to ignore the quip, he growled, "Enough of this! An Honor shouldn't be in a place like this..."

"The door is in_ that_ direction," Odin dazed, lifting a talon to indicate the exit. The green-eyed warrior slapped his hand away, furiously shaking his head. Bringing his companion back to the land of the honorable and_ thriving _was hopelessly impossible.

His mandibles gave a sudden twitch when his eyes wandered from the floor to the icy-blue tank of py'ne solution. Odin's words, _'There's a first time for everything,' _reeled in his mind. _This _was as close as he's ever been to an _ooman. _As he had expected, they weren't anything to cause a fuss over. They were small, weak, and... squishy. The thought of one actually touching his skin made him cringe. The female in the ninth behemoth was clad in a delicate tan hide. Curly black follicles concealed her feminine mettle, as well as her scalp. Though the strands on her head were longer, fraying out around her face while immersed in water._ There._ That was its first flaw: it had more hair than was necessary. It would surely cause problems in fighting; always getting loose and in the way. Not to mention it was certainly lacking for muscle. As far as he could tell, the ooman was all bone. Save for its jaunty teats.

The ooman's face was angular, nothing fancy or worth noting. Except for... The green-eyed warrior took a step closer to the behemoth tank for a better look. In a dramatic slash across her left eyelid was a remarkable scar. A battle mark. A status bar. He trilled. Perhaps this ooman was worth a little something after all. He peered past the still-ogled Odin where the other tanks stood in a row. He searched for battle mars, but found nothing; nothing that was worth a second look that is.

Suddenly engulfed in rage, the warrior let out a viscous snarl, returning his gaze to the floor. An ooman, even _with _a battle scar, deserved nothing more than the status of a slave. Or the status of a Bad Blood. Either way, the disgusting creature would be out of sight and out of mind. According to the bronze warrior, that's how it should have been from the _very_ beginning.

"Look," Odin trilled, breaking the green-eyed predator's train of thought. "Don't you have a scar just like that?"

"No," the warrior pouted. "My scar is _nothing_ like that." _It was a lie..._ the scar which the female ooman bore was an exact match to his, and Odin saw right past his denial. As expected.

Smirking, said predator looked at his hunt brother, "Who are you fooling? I was with you the day you got that, remember? Now, as much as you hate oomans, wouldn't you like to know how she got it?"

"Odin, the _ooman _is nothing more than a pestilence. Quit referring to it as a s_he. _It is an _it,_" the frustrated predator growled.

"First, if you wish to keep the head of your cock and your gonads in a pair, do not _eve_r give me a command," Odin warned, his chest inflated toward the smaller yautja, "Second, you are wrong. See those?" The bronze warrior glanced up to see his finger pointing to the ooman's mammary glands. "_It_ is in fact a s_he._ So quit acting like a pup."

"I am _not _acting like a pup. I just don't see the worth in an ooman female," the bronze warrior huffed. Odin sighed, his mouth open to spit out another retaliation, but something caught his attention before he had the chance to continue their banter.

"At least you and the nemesis of your bloodline can agree on one thing." _Wreave._ It wasn't even necessary for the warrior to turn around to know _exactly _whom Odin was referring to.

"Vi'dell," Wreave greeted with a mocking smirk, "Always a pleasure."

The bronze warrior offered a quick nod and nothing more. Odin was quick to step in, practically feeling his hunt brother's rage roll off his body in heat waves. "What do you want, Wreave."

"Ah, if it isn't Vi'dell's pupsitter. Get lost."

Now it was Odin's turn to retaliate with a roar, pounding his fist against his silver-plated chest. "You'd be wise to watch what you say to me, pauk'de."

"Truly frightened, I assure you," Wreave clicked. Odin hissed, stepping closer to the quipping nuisance. Reaching out for the smaller hunter, Odin was suddenly stopped by a third arm. Vi'dell now stood between the larger brute and his opponent.

"If you are not going to place a bid, leave," the green-eyed predator warned.

"Actually, I am," Wreave turned away to face one of the Slok'ue Guards, "I'd like to place a bid for the ninth behemoth tank."

"You cannot do that," Vi'dell trilled quickly, momentarily amused by his adversary's shocked expression.

"Unless you have a reason why not, I-"

"I have already placed a slug'd bid," was the bronze warrior's answer. Vi'dell could feel Odin's body tense. He was barely even aware of his own rapid heartbeat; as his mind tried to comprehend the future he had just set into motion.

Snarling, Wreave beat his chest, readying himself in a fighting position. He roared, whipping his dreadlocks across the length of this back, enraged. "So be it. However be warned: this will end badly for you and your ooman pet."

All Vi'dell could do was mentally agree with him and think, _the ooman is NOT mine..._

Whirling around on his heel, the nemesis of Vi'dell's bloodline disappeared into a throng of yaujtan spectators. Taking in a sharp, hesitant breath, Vi'dell turned to face his hunt brother. Odin was just as shocked now as he had been when _those words, that promise,_ had left his mouth. Clicking his mandibles in submission, Vi'dell brushed past the gaping Honor to speak with the ooman's Slok'ue Guard. Before he could even choke out a single word, a hand groped his right shoulder.

"Treason, brother. You have not placed a slug'd bid. Wreave will find out. You know he will," Odin clicked nervously, his voice just above a whisper.

Vi'dell nodded, "I am aware." The bronze warrior returned his gaze to the guard. "Slok'ue," he addressed with a bow, "Validate my name for this ooman." The words were sour on his tongue. He wished with every might of his body that he could take them back.

"As you wish," was the guard's answer.

"...And my symbol," Vi'dell added. The Slok'ue jerked, glancing up from his data-pad with weary eyes.

"Are you certain? Once you have placed a slug'd bid, this ooman and her outcome will be your responsibility. Any and all that challenge her, also challenge you. If she fails to achieve champion in this tournament, you must forfeit the name of your bloodline, the symbol of your bearer, clan name, clan ship, rank, social status, occupation, any and all trophies you may have acquired in your lifetime, sired pups, residence, possessions in your care, and all mates you are entitled to, to any and all challengers. You will be branded a gra'eyde. The only alternative you have to regain all that you have lost is to complete a Mountain Chiva as directed by the High Priestess... Is this what you want?"

_No... _

"It is," the green-eyed warrior clicked.

The Slok'ue was silent for a moment, as if searching for the _real _answer. Vi'dell mimicked his silence, staring blankly at the guard. He was unsure of what to say. Unsure of what to do. After a long moment, the guard shook his head and carved the symbol into the side of the ninth behemoth tank. The bronze warrior watched as the guard's blade was quick and flawless, etching a mark Vi'dell had learned to find...beautiful. He had learned to fight for that symbol. Not just for honor, but for its right to _live._ It was a part of him. It defined him. He was _nothing _without that symbol. There... It was done. The symbol was branded to the tank for all to see.

"Vi'dell..." Odin's voice seemed to fade in and out of his mind as he stared at the ooman immersed in the water.

It was just him and the behemoth tank. Just him and the ooman. Everything that canvased his identity was now in the hands of that ooman. He'd loose it all if it didn't succeed and survive. One would think these thoughts would only motivate Vi'dell to make sure she was the last one standing, but it just made his blood boil. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to kill the ooman himself. But, even he with is grim opinion of oomans would be a fool to allow it into the hands of _Wreave. _Every single ooman to ever be in his 'care,' has always and forevermore shall always die. If not before the tournament, then afterwards. If they died during, their bodies were found mutilated... But not this ooman. _Not this one..._

"Vi'dell." The bronze worry shrugged away Odin's hand. Sighing, Odin continued solemnly, "Why? Why would you do this? I thought you-"

"I know what you thought!" Vi'dell snapped, his chest heaving in anger. The warrior put his hands up in an attempt to calm himself down, but failed. He opened his mouth to apologize for his rudeness several times, but stopped, clamping his mandibles shut on every occasion.

"Whatever the reason..." Odin trilled, patting Vi'dell on the back, "I pledge my name to you."

The bronze warrior took a moment to understand his words. He curled his mandibles up, flashing a quick smile, "That won't be necessary, brother." Vi'dell decided it was time to leave, and, with that, he tread through the chamber toward the next corridor.

"I insist!" Odin called out. Vi'dell stopped, turning around to meet the gaze of his old friend. "After the tournament is over, no matter how it ends, know that you won't leave entirely empty handed."

The green-eyed warrior wanted to argue with his hunt brother further on the matter, but decided against it. His eyes fluttered up to the behemoth tank. The female was still adrift. Motionless. Eyes closed. Body still. Her skin rippled through the water as curious pups poked the glass with their budding claws. Without thought, he fixated his gaze on her scar, identical to his own. Maybe it was a sign. Something sent from Paya herself. The ooman could be his redemption. His second chance. Or, his downfall...

"One more thing," Odin chirped as he tried miserably to hide a smirk, "Why the change of heart?"

Vi'dell scoffed. _Heart? No... _The bronze warrior thought for a moment. Coming up with no better reason, Vi'dell responded with, "I want to know how she got that scar."

Odin couldn't suppress his hardy bark of laughter. Even after Vi'dell was gone, he couldn't quite wrap his mind around the irony.

"Well, I'll be damned," was his only remark.

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